Voices
by OmNomNommingOnSouls
Summary: Based off of one of shieunni's piccies I'd say see that first so you get an idea of the fic, nothing descriptive, but it may not appeal to some...yeah...and what genre would I put this in anyway?...


He is taken in the night, a time most suitable so that the darkness you were stolen in is memorable and Alfred, unfortunately possesses a healthy memory. Where he is taken, he can not remember, does not recognise for there was a bag over his head during their journey…yes, their journey, as he notes that another is here, the one who took him, who he feels a foreign hand resting on the crown on his head, and a dismembered Voice, 'Hush. It'll be alright.' It says and Alfred can not trust its words.

That is his first mistake.

The next thing he see is white walls which glow in the darkness of the room, the light dull as he looks up and he notices he is bound, on his knees and hands tied, locked behind his back. Screaming out does little good, the tape allows little noise to be made and only muffled snorts are heard as Alfred tries more; the American is very good at it and he lasts surprisingly long before his mouth and voice behind the tape is worn down, there are strings of saliva slipping down his chin, showing his effort, however vain it may be.

The next thing he hears (apart from his own breathing echoing and his restraints creaking when he attempts to twist them) are footsteps, clearly louder than they are so there must be…speakers? In the room? But he sees nothing but white as he looks about, the fact bothering now…is there something he missed? Perhaps there's a means of escape! As the door opens, his trail of thought is lost, and he sees a face he recognises, and how Alfred writhes against his restraints anger welling in him as snarls through the tape. The Voice however, is diligent, hushing him quickly (How can it effect him so? How how how?) as it shows displeasure with such rude actions, utterly uncalled for…And the gloved head ghosts through the locks of his blond hair, brushing a few stray bangs away from the American's face.

Alfred thinks, that the contact is torture enough.

Without the rise and fall of the Sun, without being able to see those two things, he is lost in a timeless environment, running forever yet he does not feel like he has aged. He does however feels tired, knows that his eyes would droop and his body would too if it weren't for the first time he did so (the Voice was displeased, so very displeased that he was frightened when the sweet, poisonous tones turned quite bitter and turned towards him) he would allow himself to do so again. Alfred, though, can not close nor open his eyes, a blindfold (soft against his skin, some mercy shown, how gracious of the Voice!…No…wait…) covers them, keeps him unable to see. The Voice enters the room once more, and he is far more sensitive to sound now that it had been days…well, it must have been days!…Couldn't have been less, surely? Thoughts interrupted as the voice beckons him, and he can not help but to turn in his head in a fearful anticipation but once again, the Voice sounds generous today, has an offering it seems, never an apology for what it has done…an apology that Alfred thinks he deserves. No such thing is given, instead there is the velvet sound of the Voice saying 'Open wide~' as twisted as ever and Alfred feels a hand holding his chin (always gloved, always cold, there is no warmth in this place) which squeezes just enough to purse his lips as he feels a spoon try and enter but his teeth are gnashing together, refusing the food no matter what.

The Voice is no longer 'playing nice' as he hears the tone descend to more vicious sounds, 'Eat.' It is no request, but an imperative which Alfred still chooses to disobey. So he is left hungry, stomach aching and energy growing thin by each passing hour, day, week…he's so lost without time…so desperate to go back home.

Many Sets later (that's all he can call the time periods when he hears that Voice again the cold grip of its hands settles on him but only in fleeting touches that drive him closer to the edge) and he dares to speak up of his own will, "I want to go home…" The words fall from his mouth, heavy and dry, his own voice coarse and his throat parched, body starved of what it needs. He could beg, if he wanted, but he already shows weakness and has no need to demonstrate that further, slowly he is breaking and he can not help but submit to that feeling of letting go, of trusting that Voice… 'No…not yet…' The Voice replies all malice and wickedness gone from the soothing sounding words, 'But soon…' It continues, a hand stroking the crown of Alfred's head before they leave the man in solitary confines once more.

Eventually Alfred learns to accept charity, to be grateful for what he is given, the gruel in his mouth could be sawdust for all he knew, but it tastes delightful as it is fed to him without fuss, a hand on his cheek rubbing it gently, praising him silently for obedience, for good behaviour, he grows fond of such attention as he loses himself within the infinite blackness of the blindfold and he has fallen out of despair at last, into blissful submission and the Voice is very happy with him now. He rarely hears the venom and sharpness in it now, only kindness and euphoria mingled together quite beautifully. Alfred doesn't remember a time before this, he has always been here surely? Unable to imagine an existence beyond the blank room, beyond the darkness and blindness…There is nothing but him, and the Voice. That is all that matters.

After that, time seems to go by quickly, with such haste that Alfred waits till the next time the Voice enters his room with its charming ways. But today it tests if everything has gone to the great plan it created and weaved together.

'Now then…do you want to go home?'

"Huh? I am home." Alfred replies, puzzled by the Voice's odd question. This has always been home, always always always. There is nothing outside that door, nothing of interest, nothing whatsoever.

'Good boy…' He thinks for a moment that lips touch the temple of his forehead, but that is merely a deluded dream…he has to earn such rewards like that…yes, earn them, be good, vigilant, obedient, give up everything to the Voice and it shall make your life so free, no more complications…only the lullaby of its words and the generosity it provides. Such a life is good and welcomed!

'Now then, my dear, dear boy, would you like the blindfold off?'

In an instant Alfred responds, choking on his words as the scatter from his tongue and teeth, "No No No! Please, don't!" His tone is panicked, crazed. How could his Voice, his wonderful amazing Voice say such a thing! Asking if he wants his beloved darkness taken? Alfred has no need of sight, does not need to see the horrors of the world, only has to hear the Voice's words and obey…

And for a moment, he thinks he can hear that Voice smile…

"Arthur…Arthur?" He wakes with a start reaching for his side, to see if the other is still there. There is sweat on his brow.

"Yes, my dear? What troubles you?" His voice is engraved to the American's memory; there is no moment that he can not think that it hasn't been there.

"I had- I dunno'…there was this Voice. And-"

"Hush now Alfred…it's all fine…everything is fine; just stay here, there is nothing to worry about, remember?" It sounds so like that dream, so similar, but it can't be; Arthur has always been with him, to guide him, protect him and love him.

"Yes…I nearly forgot that." And fingers start to card through his hair, bringing him back into sleep, back into that strange world. All of his troubles are forgotten and the shroud of darkness remains with his sight even if it is just whilst he sleeps…


End file.
